Life-Thrown Tomatoeshttps://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com
Dealing with life one tomato at a time.Tue, 04 Mar 2014 23:18:16 +0000en
hourly
1 http://wordpress.com/https://secure.gravatar.com/blavatar/775db7c5b8fca6ab4d18d13eecd772b7?s=96&d=https%3A%2F%2Fs0.wp.com%2Fi%2Fbuttonw-com.pngLife-Thrown Tomatoeshttps://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com
New Beginnings, etc.https://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2014/03/04/new-beginnings-etc/
https://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2014/03/04/new-beginnings-etc/#commentsTue, 04 Mar 2014 23:18:16 +0000http://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/?p=775It is the last night in my apartment. I’ve been in a sleeping bag for two nights now, which I should get used to: I leave for the Appalachian Trail in 11 days. It’s always a bit odd for me to leave a place. I always have to say “goodbye” to the space I’ve called my own for months on end – right before the moving truck pulls out, or my parents’ car, or the boyfriend with the UHaul. I take a few moments just for me, thank the space for hosting me so well, and shut the door.

This time, I’m shutting the door on something much more major. My life is about to change in a very real way, and in ways I can’t even imagine yet. I’m going “off the grid” – or, as off the grid as one can be in our age of cell phones and iPads and data plans. According to my insurance, it would be easier for me to go abroad than to stay in the country while I hike. I can’t get any prescriptions in advance – no way no how – though I explained to them at least three times I would be without access to a pharmacy for 6 months. Someone had even told me they could do 3 months, but never entered it into the system. I pleaded, the pharmacist pleaded: no exceptions. This makes things a bit more interesting.

Today was my last day in the office, too. I take a leave of absence for the next 7 months. It was very weird. I made my goodbye rounds after a lunch out. It reminded me a little bit of leaving camp: I know I’ll be back, but I work with some really great people, and I’ll miss them. There was not much left to say, really. It’s been said, variously, at different times and places.

“Good luck, have fun, be safe.”

“Yes, I will.”

On to my big adventure.

With that comes the leave of absence from this blog, too. I’m already trying to keep up with 2 other Appalachian Trail (AT)-related blogs. And besides, all of life’s tomatoes for the next several months will hit me while I’m on the Trail.

It starts as an uneasy sleep, a deep restlessness. That’s how it began for me. Perhaps for you, too.

Underneath the slick, secure, same surfaces of daily life, “things” begin to stir. Soft whispers are heard, faintly, in the heart; a restlessness moves in the solar plexus. These stirrings, easy to ignore at first, remain as tenderly persistent as a plant pushing through asphalt. The restlessness seems like the enemy within, threatening to blow up the status quo.

And, of course, it will. That’s the news I want to convey.

But it is no enemy. It is, in fact, the very best friend you have.

– The Ordinary Adventurer, by Jan Leitschuh.

]]>https://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2014/03/04/new-beginnings-etc/feed/2SarahMismatched Timehttps://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2014/02/21/mismatched-time/
https://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2014/02/21/mismatched-time/#respondFri, 21 Feb 2014 05:32:17 +0000http://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/?p=773This breakup has me thrown
2 weeks? 3?
It feels like an eternity.
It’s hitting me all over
unexpectedly.
Tears have mostly dried,
and now I’m only yearning
wondering
if I’ll ever get over you.

I know, I know:
Time heals all wounds,
but what can I do
when the only one I want
is you?
People ask me why
and I answer,
“It was mutual,” twisting.
Because I’ve lost it
Because we could fix it
if things were different
if we weren’t long-distance
Because I don’t know anymore
Because all I want
is you
is you
is you
is you

This weekend was wonderful. With three days all ours, we piled into cars and drove to West Virginia after work Friday, taking in a deep sunset and wide moonrise. Take me home, country roads, through the winding mountain pass.

A cacophony of laughter and noises and meeting and re-meeting and snacking was heard through the late evening, in between picking rooms and beds and who would ride with whom and what time to leave in the morning. In George “Piney” Williams’ rail house, I chose my own room, accessible only through another person’s room. With a mild throwback to college days, this worked out well, with careful knocks and coordination. Besides, all time was spent out on the mountains!

So, diary-style, here’s what I got into:

Saturday: Skiiing on Snowshoe Mountain

Today was awesome. It snowed all day, just powder, all day. The best conditions on the east coast I can remember for a long time. Fresh snow – 24 inches on the mountain in the previous 48 hours (or was it 24?). I haven’t experienced it many times, and certainly never expected it anywhere within driving distance of Washington, DC. Four hours, though, is quite a hike. Still, for a 3-day weekend, it’s pretty solid. What a day. What a ski day! Few things feel as nice as powder under your skis, especially when you don’t expect it. With the snow, though, came the cold. It dropped and dropped fast. It was also incredibly windy, to the point of nearly knocking me over, nevermind being able to see. But I borrowed extra gloves and stuck toe warmers in my boots, and with a stop for lunch and again in the afternoon, I was okay. We covered a lot of the mountain in the morning, catching lots of blues and some greens. After lunch, we hopped a shuttle to the other, smaller mountain. It’s the only one open for night skiing, so is quieter than the main mountain during the day. I actually enjoyed the blues there better. Plus, fewer people, more powder. Pretty great. Also at the bottom is a tiny food place with what my ski partner called “boozy hot chocolates,” so of course I had to get one. Hot chocolate + peppermint schnapps = warm all over. Mmmm. We finished off with one more small run before heading back. Truly delightful ski day!

The only time I dared take my gloves off to take a picture, and only to showcase some powder.

It took us awhile to get everyone together and get back in the cars, but we did, and then I quickly snagged a shower (as speedy as possible as we weren’t entirely sure how much hot water there would be). That felt nice. I changed into comfy sweatpants and went downstairs to help with dinner: fajitas.

Then Cards Against Humanity, which was madness and towards the end included the character “Rando” whose primary job it was to put in random cards and sweep us all

Sunday: Snowshoeing in Monongahela National Forest

Today was beautiful. Several of us slept in and got together for a delicious breakfast at the other cabin: Belgian waffles, bacon, sausage, eggs with cheese, strawberries. Tea with honey. Really quite something. Then some people went back to the mountain, and 4 of us opted for a slower day, and got packed up for some snowshoeing. I rented a pair (and poles, which I don’t recommend), and we set off for what would become a much steeper hike than we’d planned on, but had a lot of fun all the same. Shedding layers, then adding them. I really enjoy snowshoeing, and it was so pretty out. Quiet. It was neat to walk along tamped down paths right next to places you knew hadn’t been touched by humans, at least that day. We got to the top of the hill where a picnic table was and paused to eat a little food (and put on all the layers we’d dropped on the way up). There were some beautiful vistas, but I now understand the motivational power of the cold: no way was I taking off both pairs of gloves, even on one hand, to take a picture with my phone, and my camera was buried in my pack. I am guessing, then, that the beginning of my Appalachian Trail will not have much in the way of pictures. Especially given how wacky this winter has been. Let’s hope I’m not snowshoeing in March! I am also reconsidering my gloves – I’ve borrowed or added on additional gloves both skiing and snowshoeing.

We probably got back around 3, which was nice. Changed into warm, dry clothes and made hot chocolate and nachos. Board games and reading and munching until dinner!

So after dinner, we played a game called “Time’s Up.” It was absolutely hilarious. With teams of two, it’s played in three rounds, something like a Charades/Taboo mix. With a twist: your partner is the only one who can guess. It’s played with the same cards through all three rounds, so you get to know – maybe – all the answers.

Monday was a calm and nice drive back, after a truly glorious weekend.

]]>https://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2014/02/18/winter-adventures/feed/0SarahThe only time I dared take my gloves off to take a picture, and only to showcase some powder.Bad Poetryhttps://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2014/02/05/bad-poetry/
https://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2014/02/05/bad-poetry/#respondThu, 06 Feb 2014 01:54:38 +0000http://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/?p=760– 1 –

It would be easier to be angry
but I’m not
It would also be easier to eat
but I’m not
so I’m
sick
hungry
cold.
And this is the cycle
at least for awhile

– 2 –

You know what your problem is?
I said
laughing
so I wouldn’t cry
He looked at me
a pained look on his face.You’re too good
I said.
I barely got a smile
before he threw it back at meYou’re the better one
he said.
So we sat there
complimenting each other
in the middle
of our breakup

– 3 –

In mind over matter
is matter heart?
Because I think matter
Brainmatter
Grey.
There is the mind
and Things That Matter
and Heart
where is Heart?

– 4 –

The person I would vent to
The person I would laugh with
I would send that funny link to
I would explain my thoughts to

We will heal
but for now
I’ve lost
my best friend

Due to things
we could probably fix
if circumstances were
different.

– 5 –

My friend said
To put the wallowing on steroids
And heal before my hike

Well.

I’m writing bad poetry

So.

But also
I got compliments on my prose
regarding the breakup –
Prose –
Not Poetry.Bad, Poetry.Down.

[Edit: Last night can now probably be known as “sobbing night”]. In honor:

I jump
each time there’s a new text
anytime my inbox count
adds a number
Hoping it will be you
And cringing if it is
Because I am not ready
Except, I am:
This is always the worst part
We shouldn’t talk
but I want to
I want to

I want to tell you about my day
I want to send you silly pictures
I want to throw my arms around you
and never let go.

But I can’t.

]]>https://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2014/02/05/bad-poetry/feed/0SarahIncompatibilitieshttps://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2014/02/04/incompatibilities/
https://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2014/02/04/incompatibilities/#commentsTue, 04 Feb 2014 14:43:20 +0000http://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/?p=757We broke up. I’d say it was fairly mutual, though he brought it up (and I don’t think I would have). I get upset whenever I have to tell people (and so I’ve not told that many). Each time, I harp on it being “better, and worse.” Of the now 3 breakups I’ve had, it was the best. And it was also more painful. We’re both very fond of each other, we both think the other is a great, capable person. We like spending time together. And we were both very sorry it couldn’t work out. We are, for now, incompatible. I could argue it was long distance, I could argue it was shit timing: I’m leaving for the Appalachian Trail soon (and I’m likely to change), he’s in that post-college what’s-next phase. But really, for now, we just don’t work.

I’ve also never dated anyone I was friends with before, and still hoped to be friends with after. He brightens a room by being in it, and I really was happy most of the time. So it was better, and worse. It was better when I got sick – as I do after breakups – and he held my hair and brought me a cup of water, and worse because it was a bit humiliating. When I told him that, he looked surprised. I’ve been through more breakups, and they were much worse. “We’re friends,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I?” I guess there’s not actually a good response to that. It was better when he made breakfast, like he usually does, like things were…and it was worse because it was another reminder. Both of us not being together, and of him being so sweet. God, he was so sweet. With what felt like very little regard for his own feelings, he was all about making sure I was comfortable. He offered to drive the 10 hours home that night, though it was nearing midnight. Before this happened, we’d actually had a very fun weekend. Outdoors film festival, getting him into a TV show I like, a roller derby, a sideshow with all kinds of freakish acts, an improv show.

After breakfast, we talked, barely, haltingly. Reminiscent of the night before – those awkward long pauses when no one knows what to say but sometimes saying something is better than not, because what other chance do you have? And when the things that come out aren’t “you should have” and “well why didn’t you,” but “You’re a really good, capable person” and “I’m so sorry we couldn’t work,” you know it’s a special one. This makes it better, and worse.

This post is becoming hard to write, so I’ll close here. With time, I hope we can be friends. It’s just a big heartache right now, knowing how great he is, how highly we regard each other, and knowing we just aren’t working.

]]>https://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2014/02/04/incompatibilities/feed/2SarahLosing a Family Doghttps://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2014/01/22/losing-a-family-dog/
https://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2014/01/22/losing-a-family-dog/#commentsThu, 23 Jan 2014 00:58:35 +0000http://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/?p=751As I write this, one of our family dogs is being put down. I will not be there.

Buddy was fifteen years old. For a small dog especially, he’s had a long, long life. He is the second dog we have lost now. It is a gut-wrenching decision no matter what – is it fair? is he happy? are we only making him hang on for us? He brought us such joy. He was welcomed into the first house I ever lived in, which is four houses ago now. And he’s been through a lot with us.

When he was young, he was the local soccer prince – and he acted like it, too. He’d mess with his older brother, Oscar, until Oscar had to make clear who was in charge. I’ll never forget watching them play, and all of a sudden Buddy is on his back and Oscar has his paw resting lightly on his younger brother’s stomach. But they always looked out for each other. They started the family phrase “the dogs are going off,” to mean they were barking together at something or other, whether at a guest or a squirrel never really mattered.

I remember when Buddy pranced. He did, he pranced everywhere. His front legs would go out straight as he walked around (usually with a toy in his mouth) – a true prince. Like so many dogs, he could sense when I was sad and would then tolerate being held. He always knew when I was leaving again, to college or boarding school or camp, and would stay with me all day before I left.

We will miss him terribly. I wish I could give him one last hug, I wish I was there. When Oscar’s time came, we were all together.

Still, I’m reminded of that story that goes around. I didn’t see it until months or more after Oscar died. The gist is that a family makes the decision to put the family dog down. The parents debate bringing their 6 year-old to the vet with them, and ultimately explain and bring him along. As they stand there after, crying and holding each other and lamenting the short lives of dogs and other pets (I know the scene well by now), their 6 year-old surprises them by saying, “I know why.” They turn to him, and he continues, “People are put on the earth to learn to love each other and be nice, right?” They nod. “Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don’t have to stay as long.”

It is a painful night, to be sure. But I try to take comfort in all of the good things, and in that story. Buddy, we miss you so much.

]]>https://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2014/01/22/losing-a-family-dog/feed/3SarahTo Flood WordPress with Poetryhttps://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2014/01/09/to-flood-wordpress-with-poetry/
https://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2014/01/09/to-flood-wordpress-with-poetry/#respondThu, 09 Jan 2014 13:28:36 +0000http://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/?p=747There is a post going ’round on Facebook to share poetry with others, and then have them do the same. I thought it would be fun to try on WordPress (and I owe you all a post anyway). Slightly modified rules, and my poem, are below:

“The notion is to flood WordPress with poetry. Someone assigns you a poet, you post one of his/her poems, and if people comment on your post, you assign poets to them.”

I got Christina Rossetti, and picked

“In An Artist’s Studio”

One face looks out from all his canvases,
One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans:
We found her hidden just behind those screens,
That mirror gave back all her loveliness.
A queen in opal or in ruby dress,
A nameless girl in freshest summer-greens,
A saint, an angel — every canvas means
The same one meaning, neither more nor less.
He feeds upon her face by day and night,
And she with true kind eyes looks back on him,
Fair as the moon and joyful as the light:
Not wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim;
Not as she is, but was when hope shone bright;
Not as she is, but as she fills his dream.

Yes, I’m in my mid-twenties, yes, I’m planning to go hike alone in the woods for six months, yes, I rode horses and sang in public and fell down the stairs when I was little and kicked them instead of crying.

But one of my biggest fears is the dentist. Which is a little odd, because I am the most self-conscious about my teeth and smile. The dentist ought to be my best friend. If only my teeth were better, and healthier. But despite my teeth being my biggest area of body image concern, I don’t take very good care of them.

Actually, last week was the first time I even used my own dental insurance, which I’ve had for three years now. So it had been longer than that since my last visit. I’m not good at sticking with habits. I go through phases of flossing every day with care, and just as suddenly, I stop. I crawl into bed and don’t get out to brush some nights. So forget about flossing.

So one day, with a lot of support from my boyfriend and a stroke of courage, I went into the dentist office I’d walked by several times on my way to work. I stood waiting for the couple in front of me to finish, wishing for a paper bag to breathe into. I told you, I am petrified to point of unreasonableness. I forced myself to be this “adult” word I hear so much about, and stayed. With wringing hands, I walked to the counter.

“Hi,” I coughed out. “I need to make an appointment.”

“Okay, have you been here before?”

“No, I…I…I haven’t been to a dentist in a very long time. I’m terrified. But I need to fix my teeth.”

Actually, this all made me so nervous that this post is likely the first my parents are hearing about it at all, and I am very close with my parents.

My first appointment actually went really well. I like my new dentist a lot. Bedside manner was great, and he actually recognized me from the building I used to live in (apparently he lived there too, still does). I told him I was nervous, he told me not to be. He talked about things besides my teeth, then eased into my issues. He does this – he talks about small details, then your teeth, then back to not-teeth. He and his tech are a great team. He cleaned my teeth himself that time, and it barely hurt (I am used to bleeding, terrible pain and techs on seemingly bad days – oops, got your gum). Except for those wing things for the X-rays. I have never done well with those. They had to go down a size, since I couldn’t close my mouth down on the first ones.

This week consisted of not one but two appointments to fill cavities. I had a lot. I had more than even I expected. So Monday, they numbed the right side of my face and drilled away for a good long while. Today, they numbed the left side of my face and drilled away for a bit longer. Pretty much my jaw has been in some form of pain all week. My right side is still sensitive, so I bought Sensodyne and yogurt tonight.

This post was going to be better. Something about thanking dentists. How bedside manner can make such a difference. How at ease I was compared to what I recall. Blessings on anyone who actually wants to be a dentist. I suppose I should have written it last week, as this week has been an utter week from hell. I think it’s been like that for a lot of people. Pre-holiday stresses? Travel? Work? You name it.

I get to see family in less than 24 hours. And my boyfriend. I won’t have as much time off as I’d hoped (and am at a pretty low point mentally for that), but I will get to see them. And that’s all I’ve got to hold on to now. Let shit-hell-week be over.

Anyway. Face your fears. Go to the dentist. Don’t ever, ever put it off for this long if you can afford the visits. It will be worse for you the longer you’re in denial. Trust me. I know.

]]>https://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2013/12/20/facing-your-fears/feed/0SarahUpdates from The Gambiahttps://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2013/12/03/updates-from-the-gambia/
https://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/2013/12/03/updates-from-the-gambia/#commentsWed, 04 Dec 2013 01:31:53 +0000http://writingtomatoes.wordpress.com/?p=742I returned to my apartment from a lovely stay with my parents and boyfriend, and discovered a letter from The Gambia. The boy I am sponsoring had written back! For those playing catchup (I wrote about this briefly awhile ago), I am sponsoring a boy named Nfally from The Gambia. He is seven. This letter was written/translated for the family by someone at the Darsilami Social Service Centre in late October:

Nfally Jatta and his entire family are very happy to hear about the news that Nfally have picked up a sponsor and he says that he really appreciate your sponsorship.

Nfally was born on the 27 of March in the year 2006. He live in a village called Darsilami near the boarder [sic] line of [Casamance] region.

Nfally is staying with his both parents and have two sisters.

Nfally’s parents are farmers and they basically relies on seasonal farming which cannot meet their living and also the family enjoys two meals daily due to their condition.

Nfally Jatta is a Jola by tribe and a Muslim by religion. Nfally is a very quite [sic] boy who like playing soccer with his friends.

The family says they beg to stop here till another good time. May God the Almighty continue to bless you and your family bye.

It is heartwarming just to receive a letter at all, and part of why I like this program. I will write something back this week. As an extra treat, Nfally also included a drawing for me. So sweet.